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‘ [126] soft recorders.’ All this is your heritage; to me is unchanging drudgery, where there are no flowers to pluck by the wayside,—
Tra violette umili,
Nobilissima rosa;
no green sprigs, fresh myrtle, hanging vines,—but the great grindstone of the law. There I must work. Sisyphus ‘rolled the rock reluctant up the hill,’ and I am going home to do the same. The pass of the Stelvio is grand; it dwarfs all that I have ever seen of the kind in America. Munich is a nice place. The king is a great patron of art. His gallery of sculpture has some delicious things, and the building is truly beautiful. There is a sculptor here with a hard German name, who is no mean artist; but as for Cornelius1 the painter, who has already ‘done’ whole acres of fresco, I don't like him. There is such a predominance of brick-dust in his coloring and such sameness in his countenances, as to tire one soon. One of his large frescos is Orpheus2 demanding, begging I should say, Eurydice of Pluto. Every thing stands still at the sound of his lyre. Cerberus lies quiet at his feet; he is of the bull-dog breed, with a smooth skin, a snake for a tail, with the hissing mouth at the end, another snake wound round the neck, ears and head smooth, totally unlike Ponto; the whole body extended on the ground, fore-legs as well as hind-legs, one head fast asleep, the next on the ground, eyes half open, the next raised and gaping. I write this for Crawford. They have the sense here to admire Thorwaldsen,3 and the king hopes to catch him in his passage to Italy and give him a fete.I was present at the first uncovering, to the sound of music, of the equestrian statue by Thorwaldsen of ‘Maximilian the Elector;’ it is the finest equestrian I have ever seen.

Vienna, Nov. 6.

No letter from you! Have you forgotten me already, or has the post miscarried? . . . In my letter from Milan I announced to you the coming of two Americans—Preston and Lewis—to whom I wished you, for various reasons, to be kind; also of Sir Charles Vaughan. Perhaps the recent death of Sir Charles's brother,4 may have prevented his reaching there. If you see him there I wish you would remember me cordially to him, and if you can with propriety, say that I most sincerely sympathize with him in the affliction of his brother's death. His brother was a very kind friend of mine, and a most distinguished man. I have another English friend who will arrive in Rome very soon,—Mr. Kenyon, the ancient friend of Coleridge, and now the bosom friend of Southey, Wordsworth, and Landor. He is a cordial, hearty, accomplished, scholarly man. Rely upon his frankness and goodness.

Ever yours,

C. S.

1 Peter von Cornelius, 1787-1867. He devoted himself to fresco painting.

2 In the Glyptothek

3 Albert Bertel Thorwaldsen, the Danish sculptor. 1770-1844.

4 Mr. Justice Vaughan.

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